Daddy Dearest
by Amara2
Summary: The dark hole that Voldemort's mother finds herself slowly sinking into...


All my life

All my life.

Daddy Dearest never wanted a girl. He hated me, I knew it. True, he chose to show it in an entirely different way, but I saw through to his reasons. Daddy was a sick man.

I always got stuffed bears and rabbits and cotton candy and pretty dresses, while Daddy went to his meetings and events, dressed like a vicar in his high black collar. I hated every thing he gave me. Every time I looked at my fluffy pink animals I wanted to pry out their shiny button eyes and tear out tufts of their fur. I wanted to be like Daddy. He didn't understand that I was smart. That I understood everything he did to me. He wanted to pamper me and spoil me to justify his hate for me even more. Every time he looked at me, he wanted to think of what a typical girl I was, with ribbons in my hair and teddy bears in my arms. More reasons to hate me.

I always kept quiet about it. I always grinned gap-tooth grins and shook my curly black hair in the cutest way. He pretended to eat it all up. But one day he sat in his tall black armchair for hours, with his back to us. Mother told us to be quiet. Charles scampered around the parlor, trying to peek over the chair. I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him upstairs to his room. He just scowled and made horrible faces at me. I shut the door to his room and locked it. He deserved it, the rotten little kid.

From downstairs, Daddy started shouting. I heard clangs and a sharp slap, followed by a growl. Not being able to help it, I rushed downstairs. Mother stood with her arm raised, anger radiating from her. Daddy was crouching on the floor, his pale skin flushed and his eyes dark. 

"You've been drinking again." Brown glass bottles littered the floor. Daddy just shoved her.

"_Why are you doing this?_ In case you forgot, we have two children. Two children who look up to you." He shoved her again while she spoke, until she was against the wall, breathing hard.

"Children!" he roared. "_Children?!_" He pressed his face against Mother's. "Charles is my only child," he whispered harshly. I bounded down the stairs two at a time, and they both turned to me in surprise. I took a firm stance.

"Daddy, I'm your child too." His face twisted.

"You are no child of mine. A girl! A pretty, spoiled girl!" He laughed mirthlessly. "You are worth nothing to the cause. Salazar Slytherin would be ashamed to know that you were a descendant of his!"

"Daddy, it's your fault that I'm spoiled! I don't want teddy bears! I don't want pretty dresses! I don't want candy or hair ribbons!" I yelled through clenched teeth. "Why do you hate me so much?" His face was purple with rage, but he took a deep breath and a step back, looking me up and down. His words bit through me like venom. "Because a—_girl_—cannot continue the work our family has been doing for a thousand years."

For the next few days I shut myself up in my room and read books that I stole from Daddy's library. No-one tried to talk to me. It became a habit. During the next five years, I grew up and read more and more. Daddy didn't even try to keep me out of his library. He still presented me with stuffed animals on my birthdays, though. I ignored them.

One day, Mother and Charles left to buy clothes. I was in my room, reading as usual, and Daddy was sitting in his armchair and staring into the fire. When I heard the door slam after them, I calmly shut my book and picked up my wand. I was wearing my nicest green dress and new green ribbons in my hair, together with my shiny patent leather shoes and stockings. Good.

Tiptoeing down the stairs, I found Daddy sitting with his back to me.

"Daddy." I spoke softly. The chair didn't move. "Daddy," I said again. Nothing. After a few seconds, he swiveled around slowly with a beer in his hand. He'd been drinking again.

"What is it?" he asked impatiently.

"I just wanted to say thanks for nothing, asshole," I said sweetly. A vein popped out in his forehead and his face turned purple. He stood up, shaking a little on his unsteady legs, his arms reaching out for me. With swaying steps, as if he were on a boat, he moved towards me, his hands making to wrap around my neck. He was completely drunk. I just smiled and giggled.

"Crucio."

His eyes popped out of their sockets, rolling madly, and he screamed in agony, twitching and convulsing. I giggled more to see him lying on the floor, tearing out his hair by the roots and shrieking. Then I decided to stop. He lay on the floor for a few seconds, perfectly still. And then he stood up, slowly, unsteadily. His eyes were wide and his skin was deathly pale. He was shaking with pain and anger, and his huge form treaded toward me again, sillhoetted against the blazing fire in the dark room. I giggled again. 

"Avada Kedavra."

* * *

Years passed before anything really happened. I took Daddy's body in a trunk with me, packed with my clothes and books. And of course, my wand. Borrowed some money. They never saw me again.

Mother probably thought Daddy had killed me and ran away. How ironic that it was the other way around. 

It's been a long time since I've talked to anyone in the wizarding community. I've made myself a perfect life in a little muggle house in a little muggle town. No one can find me. Daddy is downstairs, in the basement, sitting in his favorite chair. I took that with me, too. Now I'm determined to become everything he would have wanted me to become. I've researched the cause, thought of every possible thing I could do to help it, become stronger than Daddy ever was. Of course, I still talk to him sometimes. He helps me make the right decisions. Everything is crucial in my rise to power. Oh, yes, I will be powerful someday. I already am powerful. Daddy must feel sorry that he ever said a girl could not do what Salazar Slytherin, our noble ancestor, did. If only I could release him from the Orb that the other Hogwarts three used to trap his powers and him in! I would be favored by him above all the rest.

It would be perfect.

* * *

I'm sitting here and tearing out my hair. What have I done? I got involved with a muggle man, that's what.

Daddy Dearest, tell me what to do? I'm staring up into your waxy, shadowed face. You're in your favorite armchair. Why can't you speak to me? You have to tell me what to do, Daddy Dearest. Don't you feel my sweaty hands clutching at your robes?

His name is Tom Riddle. He's a good-for-nothing mudblood who takes advantage of women, I've found. I've been drinking, Daddy. Yes. Just like you used to. He took my money and my dignity. Nothing can stand in the way of my success!

But Daddy, I'm pregnant. . .

* * *

I found him. I found the dirty thief. I threatened him. I showed him that I was a witch in every way. Now he's scared. He's promised to take me out of town for a little while, to encourage the story that I was sick and needed a few months of fresh air. The Cause can't have any information leaking out about me from these muggles. With the help of this story, they could be threatened and tortured but they still wouldn't be able to tell the Cause anything. Perfect.

* * *

I'm in London, Daddy. At an orphanage. I'll give up the baby and become everything that I ever wanted to be. He won't stand in my way. The social workers are looking me up and down. I'm wearing a long, velvet dress and a satin, fur-trimmed coat. My shoes are expensive and high-heeled. My makeup is immaculate. I look like I can take care of at least ten children. They wonder why I'm giving up one.

I'm bent over a stack of papers, looking at the dusty floor and dark corners of the building. Corridors lead off to rooms with creaky beds in them. The pale yellow paint is cracking. My pen pauses in the air. _Your child's name._ My child's name. My tongue runs over my crimson lips as I think. Yes. Those crimson lips twist into a cruel smile. Tom Marvolo Riddle. I hate this child. I will name him for the two people that I hate most. Tom Riddle, that muggle filth. And Marvolo. 

I have never called him Marvolo, though. My young, innocent mouth was too small to form the long word. So I got used to calling him Daddy. 

I pick up the sheaf of papers and hand them over the counter to a faded yellow woman, just like the faded yellow orphanage. She smiles a faded smile and takes the bundle into her faded arms. She doesn't understand what happens next.

All she sees is the long, slender piece of wood that I take out of the folds of my coat. All she sees is me pointing the stick at my heart. All she hears are the calm words that come out of my mouth.

"Avada Kedavra."


End file.
